He said, “As I walked, I have been remembering so much. Things I didn’t know I’d forgotten. Things about David, and you and me. I have even remembered my mother. Some of the memories have been hard. But most of them have been beautiful. And I’m frightened. I’m frightened that one day, maybe soon, I will lose them again, and this time it will be for ever.” His voice wavered. Taking a new, brave breath, he began to tell her all he had remembered; the moments from David’s life that had opened up for him like the most precious scrapbook. “I don’t want to forget his head when he was a baby. Or the way he slept when you sang. I want to keep all those things.”

“Of course you will,” she said. She tried to laugh, not wanting to continue with this conversation, although she could tell from the way he kept on looking at her that he wanted more.

“I couldn’t remember David’s name. How could I have forgotten that? I can’t bear the thought that I might look at your face one day, and not even know you.”

She felt pain pricking at her eyelids and shook her head. “You’re not losing your memory, Harold. You’re just very, very tired.”

When she met his gaze, it was naked. He held her eye, and she held his, and the years fell away. Maureen saw again the wild young man who had danced like a demon all those years ago, and filled every vein of her with the chaos of love. She blinked hard, and wiped her eyes. The waves kept throwing themselves further and further up the shoreline. All that energy, all that power, crossing oceans, carrying ships and liners, and ending just a short distance from her feet, in a last flume of spray.

She considered all the things that must happen from here. There would be regular visits to the GP. There might be colds that turned to pneumonia. There would be blood tests, hearing tests, eye tests. Maybe, God help them, there would be operations, and periods of convalescence. And then, of course, there must also follow a day when one of them was alone for good. She shivered. Harold was right; it was too much to bear. To have come all this way and discovered what it was you wanted, only to know that you must lose it again. She wondered if they should drive home via the Cotswolds, and stop a few days; or maybe take a detour and go to Norfolk. She’d love to return to Holt. But maybe they wouldn’t. It was all too big to contemplate, and she didn’t know. The waves fell over, and over, and over.

“One day at a time,” she murmured. She moved close to Harold and lifted her arms.

“Oh Maw,” he cried quietly.